Bonds
by Agent-014
Summary: Mycroft was an ice statue, he had build himself a kingdom and gotten himself a crown; he had no use for such a thing as a heart. Greg was a dreamer, he had always held to hope and managed to find light even in the darkest places; he knew love was a force to behold. Second Part of Strings; Mycroft and Greg struggle to find a way to the happiness they both deserve.
1. Iceman

When Mycroft was thirteen; his father died and took his mother's will with him.

He saw it happen, right in front of his eyes; his mother crumbled and disappeared as well as his father's heartbeat. The shell left of her was a sobbing mess that could barely handle the blinding pain of losing the person she loved the most and seeing the string attached to her wrist turn black, leaving him in charge of making the important calls and taking his brother away so he didn't see what was left of his parents, what was left of his family.

The day they buried his father, Mycroft buried his heart as well.

He couldn't love like his mother had loved his father; he couldn't allow himself to be destroyed in that way. He closed the doors to his feelings and became a machine, keeping his mind busy and trying to put his mother back together, taking care of himself and his brother.

Sherlock never understood.

He hadn't seen their mother when they told her their father was dead, he wasn't there, he just cried into theirs Nana's arms and calmed by Papa's voice as he promised him that everything was going to be alright.

It wasn't.

His mother's cries still ringed in Mycroft's head at night, the ghost of his father heavy on his back and the responsibility of taking care of his family ate him alive, he was just thirteen when he had to hold to his mother's hand to stop her from scratching her face off because of the grief she felt, and he couldn't allow himself to ever become her, he loved her but he locked that love in a box and threw the key inside his father's grave.

People kept telling him it was going to be okay; eventually everything was going to be alright.

But it never was.

At least not for Mycroft, especially after Sherlock took it against him, resenting his decision of closing his heart, kept telling him that he was stupid for not seeing how amazing bonds were and how useful they could be to strengthen the human soul.

Mycroft could only think on how a bond had broken his mother's.

He grew up before his time, at fifteen he was a certified genius and people was afraid of him, he was a social creature but they knew he could manipulate them like they were jus rag dolls for his entertainment, disposed as soon as he got bored of them or weren't useful enough.

Ice man, they called him, they went to him because of interest and fear, asking for his help to solve mindless problems and in change he got favors, even from his teachers.

They called Sherlock a Monster.

He tried to stop them but eventually gave up, his brother's intentions got all mixed up and people never saw him as he was, took him for a freak and made fun of him, never in front of Mycroft, but he knew, everybody knew.

He graduated early and got himself a job in national security, being shipped off to strange countries barely at eighteen, training to become a real agent for MI5, learning to charm his way into people giving him information and taking a strange pleasure in torturing those who denied it to him, suddenly becoming a demon in the shadows of the system, feared by many and respected by even more.

He was building a kingdom and getting himself a crown, he had no use for a heart.

When Sherlock was eighteen he was still at college, which was a surprise to him, his brother had little patience for the nonsense his teachers gave him, being smarter than the lot of them already, but there was something holding him there, someone. Victor Trevor fed his brother's idea of love being a good thing, exchanging feelings and sharing a strange bond that was half friendship and half love, thing that they needed because they knew they weren't threaded.

When Sherlock was nineteen he felt heartbreak for the first time and Mycroft couldn't pity him, he knew how it felt, losing someone you loved and thought loved you back, maybe not in the same way but he knew what it felt like to walk around with your heart in pieces, his was broken in parts so tiny that he might as well swept them under the carpet and forget about it.

Mycroft was now an active agent for MI6 and was well known for his cold hearted ways, they said he was a vampire, already dead and still walking the land of the living, taking away their secrets away like blood and destroying them without breaking a bone, he was feared and respected, admired, worshiped…

The ice King, they called him.

He had no heart, no time for feelings, caring was not an advantage; he reminded himself every night, thinking of his mother, alone in their old house and trying to pretend she was alright even when her heart broke every morning when the other side of her bed was empty, unable to smile sincerely and crying every time she saw what Mycroft had become, like it was a bad thing that he had achieved all of this.

Those nights, the ones he went to visit his mother, hurt him like a bullet wound, and he could honestly say; he had been shot a couple of times.

He thought that caring was not an advantage but he couldn't help but to care about his mother, and sit with her and hold her in his arms as she cried, wiping her tears away and promising that everything was okay, talking to her about Sherlock's obsession on other people's love life and making fun of him if only to see her lips curve a little at the corners. He would make tea and sit with her in the garden, gazing at the stars and think of what others would say if they saw him there, next to his old mother and actually acting as if blood was pumping through his veins, making the heart everybody (including him) denied existed.

One night Mycroft stood in a room full of bodies, all of their strings dissolving into ash, being burned by death and sweeping away into the wind. That night he went back to his apartment, locked the doors and sat on his bed, looking at his wrist and thinking, for the first time in years, about the other end.

Was there really someone waiting for him? He wasn't waiting for anybody and most people got a surprise when they actually met him and saw the vibrant red string hanging from his wrist, always expecting to see black tied around it, as if the tragic death of his threaded was the reason of his frozen heart. He thought of cutting it a lot, but something stopped him every single time, this night was going to be the one.

At least that was what he told to himself, grabbing his Chinese ring daggers.

He was going to cut it; he was going to end it.

The little voice in the back of his head that occasionally whispered to him that he could be loved and deserved it needed to shut up, and he was going to do it tonight.

He almost did it this time, but his hands shook so bad that he ended up cutting himself and throwing his daggers at the wall in a fit of rage. He couldn't do it and couldn't understand what stopped him.

He forgot about it, buried as deep as his feelings and kept on living, fueled by his own anger and when it finally exploded; he ending up hurting himself in a mission.

If someone asked him, he would tell them it had been nothing, just a little mistake and a couple of scrapes, really, nothing to worry about, every agent got a stab wound or two and a couple of bullets here and now, it was nothing new, he was okay.

If someone his partner, "Anthea", she would tell them the same, trying to forget about what had really happened, trying to erase the memory of Mycroft beaten and tortured, chained to a wall with his body bloodied and barely alive, it had taken months for him to even get up and walk around without fainting. It had been the worst she had ever seeing, no one in her unit had ever being treated and tortured the way Mycroft had been, she knew he was not okay.

Not that she ever told a soul about it. It was their secret, it would be forever.

After that, he got a desk job and slowly became the king in the shadows, the one to rule without a soul knowing. Sherlock called him the real British government and was always asking for favors to get his way, breaking into important buildings and trying to hide the fact that he had already believed Mycroft's words and forgot about love but still keeping a little bit of hope locked in his heart.

Mycroft gave his mother a last visit, just to let her know he was fine and that he wasn't coming back, and then threw whatever was left of his heart as far as he could, he didn't need it, he couldn't need it, he was already too broken to let himself believe in something as useless as love, allowing himself to be too close to someone else was something he couldn't do, people could be taken away and he knew it all too well. He threw his heart away and hoped to never need it again.

So, of course, he met Gregory Lestrade and his heart came back to punch him in the gut.

Hard.


	2. Dreamer

When Gregory was thirteen, he broke a bone for the first time.

He was an active child, always making a mess around the house and bothering his older sisters, that day hadn't being the exception, he was running around like a wild animal and getting himself dirty in the backyard, his cat, Boris, running after him and trying to pounce at the loose shoelaces of his boots. His newest cardboard sword needed a try after his last one was destroyed at an epic battle at school, so of course he would be wrecking havoc while his mother was at work and his father had a guest to attend to.

A chirping sound put a stop to his running; his curiosity spiking.

He found the source of the sound down the big tree his grandma had planted in their yard when she was just a child herself; the tiniest bird was calling for its family, most likely having fallen down it's nest and desperate to go back home. Greg picked it up and looked at the braches, trying to find the nest and smiling wide as he found it, putting the bird inside his shirt's pocket and getting ready to climb to it, even when his father forbade him to doing so.

When he got to the nest, he made sure to tuck the little birdie in it and smile at its siblings, a couple more of identical baby birds that were chirping happily to be reunited again. He looked at the birds one last time, smiling proud of himself as he tried to figure out how to get down, trying to make as little noise as possible so his father didn't find out about him climbing the tree.

He wasn't careful enough.

He doesn't really remember what happened, he just knows he fell and pain washed over him, making him scream and alerting his family of his whereabouts, his father was mad at him for ignoring his orders but cradled him in his arms and took him to the hospital, kissing his forehead and telling him he was going to be alright, holding him close when the nurse brought over a needle and the doctor explained to him the damaged he had done to himself.

His mother came over after a while, smiled at him, kissed his head as well and told him he was going to be alright.

And he was; he got an amazing cast on his leg and all his friends signed it and drew cool things on it for him, his father and his mother did too, and even his sisters couldn't resist drawing a little smiley face and a tiny heart on it.

He got better, but for some reason; he never forgot about the pain that took over his mind, blinding and drowning everything else, like an ocean trying to sink him into desperation. That was what he got for making a good deed.

He never forgot about the bird either, so in a way; it was worth it.

That was the thing that stuck to him as he grew up, that nothing was without pain but that what was given in return was worth it, that he couldn't get things without giving things, and that more often than not; what he got in exchange was always better than what he gave away.

He was extremely curios about his string, wondering how the person at the other side of his would be like.

His parents weren't threaded; he knew they both had lost them when they were very young and found comfort in each other's arm, finally getting married and having three incredible children. He knew that love was something to be amazed about, and could be always be found, even when it seemed that everything was over, that it could heal every kind of wounds and that there many ways of it.

When his older sister found her threaded and they became best friends instead of lovers he found more proofs of this. It wasn't that weird for threaded to never move to the next level, but some people thought it was difficult to maintain a healthy relationship with someone else when your threaded was right there next to you all along the way.

His sister's threaded wasn't a problem for her boyfriend, and neither was her for his. They became a weird family of sorts, but they worked and Greg loved them all to pieces, and they loved him in return.

His other sister was a whole other story.

She was the clumsiest person he knew, always tripping and letting things slip through her fingers, making more messes than himself but without the intention, so it was no surprise to anybody to find out that she had literally ran into her threaded.

What they weren't expecting was for her threaded to fall down and take her with him, landing in the middle of the street and stopping traffic. They both turned into blabbering messes, trying to apologize for their own clumsiness and fidgeting with their hands and turning beet red. Only after a couple of awkward minutes of apologies and cars honking at them to get out of the way, was that they realized that their strings ended at each other's wrists.

They had stopped talking and looked at each other's eyes and then kissed until they couldn't breathe.

Next thing he knew; his sister was getting married.

He was still waiting to wake up one day and just find his other end, just like his sisters, and find out what kind of relationship they would have.

Would they be best friends?

Or just helplessly in love?

Would they be a girl or a boy?

He could only dream of it, and keep on living; so he did.

He became a policeman so he could help people and do what was right; it was a job that fitted him perfectly. People loved him and soon enough he started escalating ranks, kept doing so until he became detective inspector and made the mistake to fall in love.

He fell in love with a girl that wasn't his threaded, just because she smiled at him and treated him kindly and gave him the love he was so thirsty for. It was something fast and wild that broke him when it came to an end, because as soon as she got tired of him; she jumped to the next pretty boy she found and kept on moving.

Greg couldn't hate her; she had told him that she wasn't made for lost lasting relationships, her own threaded being nothing but a friend. He had ignored the warning and gotten his heart broken; it was no one's fault but his.

He decided, after that, that he was being naïve, and that maybe what he would find at the end of his string would be black and smoke, that maybe it would be severed; he couldn't know for sure until he found it, and it was taking its sweet time to come.

His hopes got thinner and the title of dreamer was starting to hang over his shoulders, too busy with work and cases to be worried about following the stupid string hanging from his wrist.

He started smoking to take out the stress.

Started drinking to forget he was alone.

But at night he would curl around a pillow and promise himself that he wouldn't give up; he couldn't, he knew that whatever he found at the end wasn't all there was. He knew that if it was severed; he could still find love, just like his parents, he knew there was still hope and he held to it with all he had.

But the dreams…

Those he threw away, he no longer dreamed of a perfect fairy tale romance, or about magical meetings, he threw those dreams as far as he could and forgot about them, expecting to never have them again.

So, of course, then he met Mycroft Holmes and the dreams came back to punch him in the gut.

Hard.


	3. Meeting

They all say that meeting your soulmate can go three ways.

You can feel like an electric pulse is running through your veins and making your body buzz, feeling it tingling in your fingertips and everything stops. They say your heart skips a beat and you just know you love this person with all you have and will do forever, never mind that you don't know a thing about them, not even their name; you've got the rest of your life to get to know them.

Maybe you'll just feel like you already know them, like they're all you're not, like this person has been with you all along and you can even begin to understand how two seconds become a lifetime. They say you feel butterflies in the stomach and your head gets a little fuzzy, your chest bursting with happiness at the idea of finally being complete and having someone there for you, never mind if you get romantic or stay completely platonic, there's someone who won't ever give up on you and that's what matters right then.

There are also people who say they felt nothing. Nothing at all, like it was just them meeting another random stranger on the streets, and for some reason this kind of threaded usually ended up married and so in tune that their heartbeats synchronized and could almost blend into one being, or they hated each other enough to drive one of them to severe their strings or even murder.

No one ever said anything about panic or mind-consuming fear that spread through every single part of your body leaving you frozen in place, staring at the face of what could be your future and unable to breathe, like you're waiting for a bomb to drop and explode and drag you to hell. No one ever said anything about the cold in your veins trying to make your head explode or the fire in your body that dangerously made you feel like passing out.

No one said anything about the desire to run away and never look back.

But that was what Mycroft felt and it scared him shitless.

He used to be a MI6 agent, he ran the fucking country, he was the Ice King in the shadows of the system, he stopped wars before his morning tea and had to deal with the nightmare that was Sherlock Holmes, he was probably the most important man on England; nothing ever scared him.

But this…

This had him shaking.

And for what he could see, the man in front of him was experiencing something similar; he could see the panic in his eyes, the way his hands were made into fists to stop them from shaking, the way he swallowed hard, trying to get his dry mouth to cooperate. Giving him a second look, Mycroft had to admit that the man was quite a catch, with a handsome face and a good job at NSY, his hair a nice salt and pepper mix and dark eyes, yes, he could see the attractive there, but his mind was still trying to get him to run away.

"Hi…- Finally, the other man broke the awkward silence, clearing his throat offering his string hand" Gregory Lestrade.

"Mycroft Holmes" He said, trying to keep his voice calm and taking the other man's hand, feeling a sharp pain as he shook it and having more luck at hiding the grimace than his threaded "Would you like to have a coffee? I think we should have this conversation in a place more… private."

"What? Oh, yeah, sure" Gregory looked around, finally noticing the looks people were giving them, after all they were in middle of a crime scene, and yet they were looking more scared of each other than of the mutilated body two feet away from them- Sure, we can get a nice coffee just around the corner. Sally, take charge.

Greg couldn't believe his luck, he really couldn't. The idea of finding his threaded was something that gave him hope every night, it made his chest warm just to think of finally meeting the person at other side of his string and could only dream of a happy ending to it all.

But now…

Now he was scared, and confused, and totally trying to ignore how attractive Mycroft Holmes was, with his three piece suit and black umbrella, ginger hair and blue/grayish eyes that he wanted to appreciate and get a better look of, but he couldn't, just the thought of getting closer to the man made his heart beat like a drum and his desire to take off running just grew stronger.

He couldn't understand the feelings that were running through him, it was painful and the fear was almost paralyzing, he could barely get his body to join his cause and move somewhat coordinated, he felt like tripping and avoiding picking things because he felt he would drop them, his hands were shaking and cold seat was running down his spine, the sharp pain in his chest when he had taken Mycroft's hand was still pulsing weakly.

"So… Mycroft?" Greg tried again, finding that talking was still a bit hard "What can you tell me about you? I mean… we should get to know each other… nothing much, simple things… like, how old are you, or what you do for a living. Do you have any siblings?"

"I'm 45, don't let anybody feed you lies, and if I told you what I do for a living then I'd have to kill you, so let's say I work for the government- The man said, his voice so calm and in control that made Gregory think the man was neither calm nor in control" And yes, I do have siblings; a younger brother.

"Oh, that's nice" Gregory didn't have any brothers, and he was the youngest, so it was kind of curios to know this little fact about his threaded "I have sisters, two of them, both older than me. You know what I do for a living, and I'm actually 47."

"Are you? Well, that's interesting; you certainly don't look any older than I am" Remarked Mycroft with a raised eyebrow "What about the rest of your family? Your favorite color, food…?"

From there, the conversation went quite well, the nerves and fear going away as they grew more comfortable with each other, talking about mindless things, like how Gregory's parents were happily married but not threaded and how his sisters used to torture him and treat him as another girl, about how his favorite color was black (yes, sue him) and his favorite food was homemade pizza, especially his mother's. They talked about his off-the-records obsession with leather jackets and old bikes, and how he loved riding his around the city like a little rebel teenager when he was in his late forties, finally managing to get a tiny smile out of Mycroft.

The man for his part talked about his brother; Sherlock, and how bright he was, he talked about his mother and how she lived alone in their old house, keeping a magnificent garden that kept her busy, he talked about how his favorite color was purple (because for some reason it made him calm) and his unexpected sweet tooth that made vanilla cake his favorite food, but only really good quality one, the kind that takes a lot of time to make and cost more than any cake Greg had ever had. He also noticed how he left his father out of topic, and kept talking nonsense and warning Greg about his little brother, who seemed to have a really twisted perception of him, but he let it go, thinking that maybe it was something for later, when they were more comfortable with each other.

"So… what are we going to do about this?" Mycroft asked after their third cup of coffee (he also learned that the man liked his black with two sugars, just like himself) and looked at Greg with some of the forgotten unease on his eyes.

"I don't know" He answered, being 100% honest. He didn't know what to do, what he wanted to do? Go and risk it and ask for undying love, or take it slow and start with friendship? He was a cautious man, so he knew when to take risks and when not to "Maybe we should try being friends?"

"Friends?" If the man was disappointed about the idea, he didn't show, only nodded like thinking it was for the best and took out his wallet, paying for the coffees and giving Greg a card that had nothing but a phone number "Mine, if you want to meet, or just talk."

"Oh, right, thanks" He knew he was blushing, but he didn't know why, searching his pockets for one of his own cards(the kind that had his name and his occupation on it) and handling it to Mycroft- The same, you know, if your need anything, if you want to go out for dinner, if you get in any trouble and need help or just if you need to talk about anything… just call me.

"Thank you" Mycroft said, smiling politely but not genuinely "I guess we should get going; you're in middle of a case, after all."

"Yeah, we should."

And so they did, awkwardly saying goodbye with a handshake and finding that there was no pain, not anymore. There was no fear, there was no desire of running away, they had made peace and would probably see each other again soon, and they were threaded after all. They didn't have to be afraid of the weird feelings that had gotten into them when they first saw each other, they forgot about it, brushed aside, because right now they were calm.

But then, of course, they went each on their way, separately, alone, and the feelings of anguish and fear came back to punch them in the gut.

Hard.

And the desire of running away became a wild desperation to run back to each other.


	4. Kiss

Mycroft had his doubts about the detective inspector and his intentions, he never truly cared about anyone but his family and they'd hurt him in ways he couldn't even admit to himself, he couldn't blame them or hate them for it, but it didn't make it hurt any less when he thought about it. He didn't know if the man meant it when he said they could try just being friends, he didn't know if the man liked him or if he was freaked out or disgusted by the fact of having him as his threaded. He didn't know a thing and it scared him, because it was the first time in a long time that things were out of his control.

He wasn't in control of anything.

He needed to throw up.

He rushed to the bathroom and clashed on his knees in front of the toilet, breathing deeply to keep the nausea at bay, he needed the room to stop spinning and his mind to stop reeling. He hadn't had a panic attack in years, he couldn't start this again, it was hard enough the first time around and he still didn't know how he'd managed to stop them; he couldn't do it a second time.

If he sank this time, he was going to stay at the bottom of his darkness and drown.

"You look happy, boss. What's up?" Sally asked as soon as she came in with coffee for the two of them "Got laid? The man from yesterday looked a little bit uptight"

"Sally, we've talked about gossip in the office and privacy" He answered, taking a sip from his cup and letting out a little sigh "But I know you won't let it go, so I'll tell you if you promise not to make a big deal out of this"

"Pinky promise" She joked, lifting her little finger and smiling cheekily at him.

"No, I didn't get laid. But we had a nice chat, he's really nice" He smiled into his cup, feeling very much like a thirteen year old teenage girl with a crush "And we decided to take it slow and be friends first, to know each other before anything"

"That sounds boring, boss" Sally rolled her eyes and relaxed back into her chair "You should at least call him to say good morning or something, win him over"

"That's… not a bad idea" Greg smiled and then motioned her to the door "I'm going to need some privacy, fly away"

"Privacy? Well, shit" She smiled giving him a wink and leaving the room, he heard her say as she left "I think I just got my boss to give his threaded a sexy call"

"That little… minx" He muttered, trying to fight the smile out of his face and taking out his phone, dialing Mycroft number from memory (because it was an easy number, not because he spent the night looking at the card and smiling to himself, because he totally didn't) and letting it ring.

"Hello?" Mycroft didn't want to answer, but very few had his private number and it could mean Sherlock was in any kind of trouble. His voice was still a bit shaky and his other hand was still clutching the toilet so hard that his knuckles were white "Mycroft Holmes"

"Hi, Mycroft, it's me; Greg" Said the smooth voice of the detective, soothing some of Mycroft's anxiety "I was calling to say good morning, see how you were"

"I'm fine, thanks for asking, it was very considerate from you to call to check on my well being, and I appreciate it" He answered, letting his back rest against the tub and curling on himself "What about you? How you fare this morning?"

"I woke up on time and well rested, that's the best I've done in a while" He could hear Gregory's smile through the line and a little shiver ran down his spine at the mental image of the man's face at the moment "The loveliest morning I had in a while, and I think I owed it to you. I had a really good time last night and I'd love to see you again, to have lunch or something. But don't feel like you have to, I know we agreed to take it slow, I just… friends have lunch together sometimes, right? We could… I'm sorry, I'm rambling, I must be annoying you or…"

"No, it's okay" He interrupted, a little smiling curling his lips upwards, panic attack completely forgotten "I'd like that, sharing a meal with you, talking… I like to hear your voice; it's not annoying at all"

"Wow, thanks, I guess" Gregory said, a bit shocked "No one ever said that about my voice, nice to know that my ramblings won't scare you away"

"I think you'd find really hard to scare me away" Mycroft smiled a bit bitterly, thinking about how easily he could scare Gregory away "What about today? Two o'clock?"

"Perfect, I call dibs on choosing the place" Gregory laughed and Mycroft's heart decided to become an acrobat "I'll text you the address, have a nice day, Mike"

"You too, Gregory" He said, hanging up and holding the phone close to his chest, feeling confused about the feelings twirling in his stomach and deciding to get ready for work before a war exploded somewhere.

They didn't have lunch that day.

Mycroft's work got in the line and someone decided to get murdered on a public bathroom.

But they did have dinner at a little restaurant that Lestrade choose, very quiet and calm. They ate, talked and laughed at Greg's bad sense of humor. It was hard for both of them to realize how at ease they felt around each other and how some kind of emptiness would take place in their chests when they were apart.

It was hard for Greg to feel so in love with someone he still didn't know loved him back.

It was hard for Mycroft to feel so in love with someone who shouldn't love him back.

They started seeing each other more often, occasionally having dinner or simply a coffee break together, it was weird but lovely, and they started to know each other better.

Mycroft knew about Greg's love for good coffee and his resignation at the one he got from the office because it was the only thing available, he also knew about his fear of spiders and how bad he felt every time a case involved children. He knew how his shoulders tensed when he was having a bad day, and how he scratched behind his ear when he had a headache and refused to admit it to himself. He knew about his strange friendship with Sally Donovan and the respect they had for each other, never mind the banter and the occasional hostility. He knew he loved his sisters but always wanted a brother, and how he loved his parents and tried his very best to visit them at least once every two months. He knew he loved Gregory Lestrade and that the man loved him back.

Gregory knew a lot about Mycroft as well, a bit harder to figure out but with time a patience everything was possible.

He knew about Mycroft sweet tooth and how he refused to allow himself the pleasure of cakes and sweets as often as he'd liked because he worried about his weight. He knew said worry came from the time when Mycroft left the legwork and took a desk and gained a couple of pounds that made his brother mock him restlessly until he forced himself to lose them. He knew about his fear of closed spaces and how much he hated being out of control, how he counted the cutlery when he washed and cleaned, and then counted them again just to be sure the number was always right. He knew about the panic attacks, even if he had never witnessed one, Mycroft told him himself when he called in middle of the night trying to catch his breath, and he also knew his voice could take the panic away and calm the other man enough to go back to sleep. He knew he loved his brother more than he loved himself, even if he seemed to hate Mycroft's guts, and he knew he loved his mother just as much, and tried his very best to call her at least once a week to see how she was doing. He knew he loved Mycroft Holmes and that the man loved him back.

It was only logical that next date they kissed.

It was slow, and surprisingly chaste, tasting each other's lips carefully, investigating the texture of the other's tongue and caressing each other's hair. After pulling apart, they rested their foreheads together and smiled to themselves, eyes closed and holding each other close. Mycroft moved a little bit, making himself fit better in Greg's arms and burying his face in the other man's shoulder.

"I love you" Greg couldn't help but say, regretting the words as soon as they let his lips and he felt Mycroft whole body go tense against his, his breath picking up "Mike?"

"Don't call me that, don't say that… don't say things like that… don't…" Mycroft was shaking now, trying to pull apart from Lestrade's embrace and run away, pretend he didn't hear him, pretend this didn't happen "You can't… don't call me Mike, don't… don't say you love me"

"Mycroft, I'm sorry, I won't say it again" Greg said, holding Mycroft closer instead of letting him go, rubbing his back with one hand and caressing his hair with the other "It's okay, I won't say it again, I won't call you that name. It's fine, really, just breathe, please"

"I'm sorry" Mycroft said, giving up on his struggle to get free and letting his body fall limp against the detective's "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry"

"There's nothing to be sorry about, it's fine" Greg was saying the truth, he should have known better than to push Mycroft Holmes, he was a man with walls around his heart to keep himself safe, because he was fragile and had no other way to protect himself "It's really okay, we're okay. Just breathe"

"I'm breathing, you're helping me breathe, you keep me breathing" He mumbled against the man's shoulder and closed his eyes to hold the tears back "I just want to go home"

"I'll take you home" Greg pulled apart but kept their hands linked, lifting them for a second to kiss Mycroft's and then started walking towards the card that always waited for them at a prudent distance, thinking about what to do next.


End file.
